


sweet things

by Bootstrap_Paradox



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, but there is a happy end, crowley decides to cook crepes, crowley has absolutely no idea how to make crepes, madness ensues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 16:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19816594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bootstrap_Paradox/pseuds/Bootstrap_Paradox
Summary: After accidentally agreeing to meet in his own apartment for a change, Crowley needs to figure something out for a morning date. He decides to make crepes. The idea is very good, the execution? Not so much...





	sweet things

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 5pm while laying on the couch, listening to this playlist (https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SAA5mKUHaSBUAVYCGHii0?si=fRFapHeOSxS0TFsPMhEdtg) and eating an ungodly amount of marshmallows - all instead of working on my BSc thesis. This fic has not been proofread, checked, or approved by anyone ever. I'm not even sure what this is, but I enjoyed writing it, so here.

-Right. Everyone’s here, I guess.

As of six twenty-three am on a cloudy Friday morning, Anthony J. Crowley resided in his apartment, surrounded by his plants, sitting on a small and severely uncomfortable chair. The reason for it was simple: he was having a discussion. A discussion of utmost importance. The wind howled outside, blowing away the last remaining threads of late autumn warmth. The sun didn’t shine into the apartment. And the plants were, indeed, all here.

The demon squirmed on the tiny chair and sighed.

-Okay then… any ideas?

Perhaps Crowley thought he looked authoritative in such a setting, in an attempt, one could guess, to trick his mind into giving him a tiny boost of confidence. He didn’t look any close to authoritative. Instead of his usual stylish outfits, he was wearing the following: one sock, underwear, a Beatles t-shirt which looked like it has been purchased in the sixties (it was), and dark glasses. That alone was enough to disqualify him from appearing to possess anything resembling confidence. On top of that, his face was communicating something in between terror, confusion, and gay panic. It definitely didn’t leave a good impression.

-I could get some wine. – Crowley mused, looking to plants for approval. They didn’t react. – Light a few candles. Play music. Is that how romance is supposed to be like?

The plants did not respond. They have never seen their owner lost and frustrated – not in front of them, at least – and they didn’t have any chance to master extra emotions on top of fear and relief. Frankly, they couldn’t tell what the fuss was all about.

-No, that’s not good for a morning date. – Crowley dismissed his own idea. – I need something smaller. More subtle. More… cute.

The plants did not understand, but shook their leaves in agreement nonetheless.

The fuss was about the following - last week, when Crowley was in the process of searching for his trousers in Aziraphale’s bedroom, the angel sighed, caught his glance for a split second, and said:

-Why do we always stay here?

-Sorry? – Crowley had been half-way under the bed when the question was asked.

-What I’m trying to say is, - Aziraphale continued, lighting up the room with a wave of his hand, - it would be nice to go to your apartment for a change.

-It would? – As soon as Crowley’s eyes adjusted to the brightness, his gaze was drawn to the top of a cupboard, which resulted in him finding his trousers.

-Let’s do that. – Aziraphale said, just barely a touch of a smile playing on his lips. – Next week. How about… Wednesday?

-Busy on Wednesday. – Crowley muttered, standing on tiptoes to grab the trousers.

-Friday then. I can open the shop a bit later. We’ll have a morning date.

-Sure. – He was now standing on one leg, trying to fit the other into trousers. – No problem. Sorry, what did I agree to just now?

And that’s how he ended up in the mess he was in now.

-Breakfast! – Crowley cried out, making the plants shiver – more reflex than anything else. – I can cook breakfast for him. That’s brilliant! No, wait, it’s not brilliant. – He got up and stared at the ceiling. – I can’t cook. – He reminded himself. – But I can try. – He immediately disagreed with himself. – Crepes! I can make crepes! Of course. – Upon locating his phone, he began to type. – I’m no Frenchman, - he mused, adding the word “easy” to his search, - but how difficult can it be?

More difficult than Crowley thought.

Having lived on Earth for several millennia, Crowley had picked up many useful skills. He could tie five different tie knots, drive practically any vehicle humans have invented, knew how to diffuse a bomb (or set it off if needed) and open a bottle of wine without using a corkscrew – all without the use of any miracles. What he couldn’t do, however, was cooking. Since he wasn’t _that_ fond of eating, there was simply no need for it. As a result, he was lacking almost everything listed in the recipe (including the skillet), and had only a hazy idea of where to acquire such items. Luckily the local supermarket came to his aid.

An hour later Crowley was standing in the barely furnished area of his apartment he called the kitchen, staring at a pile of products he has laid out on the table. “Combine the ingredients” sounded simple enough, but have you ever tried cracking an egg when you don’t even have a concept of how that is supposed to work? After dropping one on the floor and crushing another to a crispy mush, Crowley admitted defeat, wiped his hands on his jeans and typed “how to crack an egg” into YouTube search. That ranked in his top three of embarrassing moments… along with slapping Hastur in the face when attempting to teach him the high-five, or accidentally introducing Aziraphale as “my angel” to a random customer at his bookstore.

When all the ingredients were combined at last, one nightmare was over, but another has begun: lumps. Crowley has tried everything. Yelling at the batter. Asking it nicely. Mixing it so hard that his arm started to hurt. Watching more YouTube videos. But no matter what he did, the batter was still clumpy, pathetic, and not at all smooth. Eventually, upon glancing at the time and realizing he only had about half an hour left, Crowley decided to work with what he’s got and cook the crepes already. As you can imagine, it didn’t get better from there.

He expected to ruin the first one. The second one would probably turn out a little skewed as well. Hell, he was perfectly willing to sacrifice the third one as well, but the fourth one? And the fifth one? And all subsequent ones as well? Crowley was running out of new curses when, somehow, he managed to pour the batter perfectly and create a pleasingly round circle. Already overflowing with pride, he watched the batter bubble and solidify, grabbed the skillet, and prepared to do The Flip. Of course – how else could it be – the crepe ended up on the floor.

Twenty-five minutes later, and he ended up with three fairly decent crepes that he put on a plate as carefully as he could. He then sat down at the table, put the plate in front of him, and screamed silently into his palms. He didn’t even hear Aziraphale come in.

-Crowley? – He called out from the corridor, but the demon didn’t react. – I know I’m a tad early, but that’s the bus’s fault, not mine. Crowley? – He repeated, walking into the kitchen. – Oh dear.

Stepping into this Texas Chainsaw Massacre of cooking shows, one could hardly even guess what has transpired there. For one, everything in it – floor, walls, ceiling, Crowley himself – was covered in flour. How much flour you’d need to cover this much surface, Aziraphale wasn’t sure. The floor was also littered with egg shells, paper tissues, and what seemed like cinnamon. The stove was covered in white puddles. The skillet was still smoking. And Crowley sat at the table, a plate in front of him, chin propped up by his arms, flour on his nose and just a splash of batter stuck to the left side of his dark glasses.

Aziraphale grabbed a chair and sat down opposite him.

-Crowley. – He said, carefully removing the glasses from his face. – Love. What on Earth has happened here?

-Oh. – Crowley’s eyes were still focused on the table. – I’ve tried to impress my boyfriend with breakfast for our date, but instead I’ve just provided him with further proof that I’m a complete fucking dumbass… crepes? – And he pushed the plate towards Aziraphale.

-Well, thank you. – He replied, seemingly unfazed. – Knife?

Crowley pointed at the corner of the table that has been set up for the breakfast.

-Hmm. – Aziraphale continued, already chewing. – I know this is not how you’ve planned it, but I do appreciate it. A lot. – He said, catching Crowley’s gaze at last. – I think this was very thoughtful, and kind, and cute. – He cut off another piece and clicked his tongue. – And, taking into account that it was probably your first attempt at cooking in general, these are not completely terrible crepes either.

-You really think so? – Suddenly, Crowley’s eyes lit up.

-Quite. – Aziraphale confirmed, and, with a wave of his hand, vanished the kitchen mess. – You could have done the same, you know. – He added, leaning across the narrow table to place a kiss on Crowley’s cheek. – Miracle it, I mean.

-Ah. – Crowley replied. – That, uh, that’s my point with “dumbass”.

-I’ve known you since the dawn of time, Crowley, it is hardly news to me.

Crowley wasn’t quite sure whether to feel offended or warm. In the end, he settled on the latter.

-Next time you get a brilliant idea like this, - Aziraphale smiled, - please, just ask me to a nice place instead.

-No problem. – Crowley decided to seize the opportunity. – Do you think that place in Paris is still around?

Aziraphale severely doubted it… but the temptation to make sure by spending a weekend in Paris was far too great to resist.

**Author's Note:**

> For more quality (and otherwise) Good Omens content, follow me on tumblr at bootstrapparadoxed.tumblr.com


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